Academic freedom, once so popular in the faculty
lounges, appears to be optional on many campuses
where college presidents wilt under the
first squeals of snowflakes.

These snowflakes are not the first ice of winter, but
delicate students who imagine they, like their first bumps
in life, are unique, and worry they'll melt if they go out
in the sun. The modern college and university president
makes finding shelter for them his first priority.

Garry Harley is an artist in Lowell, Mass., and when
Salem State University in nearby Salem (home of the
original witches of New England) asked him to create
something inspired by the election, he had an epiphany.
He would think of all the ways Donald Trump was demonizing
and oppressing black people in America, and
commit his thoughts to high art. The university put them
on exhibit just after Nov. 8.

One of the historic photographs he selected was of
a group of Ku Klux Klansmen. The Klan is particularly
popular on booger-man nights on the left just now,
though most of the people who show up for Klan rallies
are undercover FBI informants. The informants are
particularly appreciated
because
without them the
grand wizards
couldn't turn out
enough cyclops,
turks, magis,
monks and ghouls to make up a klavern of a size to conjure
enough hate to frighten small children.

But even photographs frighten the snowflakes who
thrive on campus. Within hours after Mr. Harley's exhibit
went up students, many but not all black, posted complaints.
"Why did Salem State think it was OK to put a
pic[ture] of the KKK in an art gallery during election
time?" Another complained that "Salem State thinks
this is an acceptable piece of art to hang up in a public
gallery."

This appeared to be the "teaching moment" that
eludes so many university administrators, and the
university first tried to focus attention on what the artist
intended with the exhibit, even producing a small booklet
(eliminating as many big words as possible) to explain
the nature of art, including Mr. Harley's art.

Soon it was
clear that nobody was reading them, perhaps because
they didn't know how. Then some of the words in the
booklet were posted next to the photographs.

The doors to the exhibit hall are of glass, and, fearing
that some students might see the offending photographs,
the university even covered the glass and posted a statement
outside the gallery that snowflakes were welcome,
but an exhibit inside included sights that might offend
some viewers.

The teaching moment continued with an open forum
to talk about art and its uses. Mr. Harley brought images
of famous artworks of the past to show how earlier
generations made it through the day even with occasional
thoughts about bad things. He showed a print of
Francisco Goya's "The Third of May 1808," of French
soldiers shooting Spanish soldiers, and Pablo Picasso's
"Guernica," depicting the destruction of a Spanish town
by fascists (the real ones, not the presumed fascists of
contemporary political jeremiads).

Mr. Harley modestly
said he was suggesting no comparison to his own work,
but to demonstrate the long tradition of grown-ups
confronting through art people and events they didn't
necessarily endorse.

The forum became first a litany of complaints, both
about the photographs and the artist, and the students
only wanted to talk about the aches and pains, perhaps
in unmentionable places, the exhibit caused them. There
was no one to remind them of the wisdom of their
grandparents - their great-grandparents, maybe - that
"sticks and stones may break my bones but words will
never hurt me."

The university finally shut down the exhibit with an
apology that descended into servile remorse and contrition.
"We would like to apologize to those in the campus
community who have experienced distress resulting
from this exhibit," said the chairman of the art and design
department, and the curator of the offending gallery.
"We are sorry . . . Art is often intended to spark discussion
about societal ills. In this case, it did just that, but
we deeply regret the distress it has caused students. We
thank the students for sharing their views, and we look
forward to working with them to determine how to move
forward."

Ours is an era of thin skin and offense-taking. In an
earlier day students complained about not having a place
to park their cars, but now the search is on for a place to
park feelings while someone massages them.

Even Donald
Trump, the object of much campus ire, sometimes
affects a bit of snowflakery. He may be the first president in history
to complain that the election he won was rigged.

But
most children eventually grow up, and the betting here is
that the republic survives.